Five Times Tom Branson Was Too Happy For Words (And One Time He Wasn't
by illmatchtheminrenown
Summary: The title says it all. Spoilers up through 3x05. Also, in case anyone is interested I'm working on an AU/fix-it of 3x05 that should be up, well, sometime soon.


"Take it! Take it!" Gwen shouted, shoving the tray into the hands of map adding maid. Laughing, her friends pulled her into a joyful three-way hug. As Tom lifted her off the ground, he couldn't help marveling at the slender warmth that was Sybil- _Lady_ Sybil, he corrected himself- pressed into his other side. At the stern approach of Mrs. Hughes, the three separated.

Tom wasn't quite sure how it happened, or who had moved first. But suddenly, he felt a pressure on his hand as his fingers locked with Sybil's, seemingly of their own accord, as if it was a habit.

_Think, Tom, think, you fool! _He mentally chastised himself. But when Sybil turned to him, he couldn't find the right words. Before he couget get out more than, "I don't suppose-", she was gone.

* * *

_For now, God knows it's enough that I can kiss you._

It was even better than all the times he'd imagined this moment. She was so soft, and yet he could feel her subtle strength as the kiss deepened, becoming more insistent and passionate for having been delayed far too long. As they broke contact, he could look in her eyes and was almost overwhelmed by the expression he saw- so much emotion, and that fiery spark he first fell in love with. At a complete loss for words, Tom instead focused on memorizing very detail of this moment: the way he could feel her heart racing pressed up against him, the soft silken threads of her hair, the layers of fringe on her dress that clicked together as his hands wrapped around to pull her closer.

Realizing he still had no words, he smiled down at the woman he loved and decided to take control of the moment so that neither of them would need to speak for a while.

* * *

She looked so beautiful, in a simple white dress. Perhaps it was not was the daughter of an earl expected to be married in, but to Tom, it only made his Sybil look more lively and beautiful. As she met him, he reached out and took her hand, smiling at the memory of the first time he had done so, and how far they'd come since that day in the garden. They took their vows, and in that moment, the congregation behind them faded away completely as far as he was concerned. And when they kissed, only the cheers of the gathered friends and family reminded him that there were others around. At the door of the church, they paused for a moment, and he met her gaze. Unable to express what he felt in words, Tom did what any new husband would do: kissed his bride again.

* * *

In all the time Tom had known Sybil, he was fairly sure he'd never seen her shy before. And he was certain he'd never seen her shy when they were alone together. Bending down, he softly kissed his wife of less than a day, trying to put some sort of reassurance into the now-familiar movement.

"I love you, my darling" he whispered, thrilling as she whispered the same words back to him. "Are you nervous?" When Sybil nodded, he couldn't help grinning back at her. "So am I." Gently, he pushed the strap of her chemise down her shoulder, then the other side. To his surprise, she suddenly moved, slipping out of her undergarments and reaching for him. Moments later, they fell together onto the bed- _their_ bed. Balancing carefully above Sybil, Tom kissed her again, this time deeply and passionately, even a little impatiently- after all, he'd waited seven years for this woman, but she was worth even seventy. As they moved together, he lost himself in the sensation of simply being with her. Nothing could be better than this. He couldn't find the words- or the breath- to speak, to tell his beautiful girl what she had done to him over all these years, so he settled instead for showing her.

* * *

A few brief, precious moments. Tom sat on the edge of the rumpled bed, one arm tightly around Sybil and the other reaching out to gently touch the tiny bundle in her arms. He had heard men in his family say, in their rough way that blended sentimentality with masculine toughness, what a joy fatherhood was. But this, this perfect little miracle, born of a love between a strong-willed English noblewoman and a passionate working-class Irishman, this was beyond anything he could have ever imagined. Tom looked between the two great loves of his life and pressed a soft kiss to each of their heads. As he and Sybil shared a look over the squirming form of their daughter, neither of them spoke- neither of them had to.

* * *

Tom opened his eyes and looked around him at the lovely green landscape. As he got to his feet, he noticed that he stood without any trouble, his limbs lean and muscular again. Curiously, he reached up habitually to run his hand along his head and was surprised to meet resistance of thick, dark blond hair instead of thin gray wisps.

"Tom." There it was- the voice he had longed to hear for so long, saying his name as only it could. He turned, and she was there, vivacious and even more beautiful than he remembered, with her long dark hair loose and the lavender dress he knew was her favorite (and his too, if he admitted to having an opinion on clothes). She reached out her hand, just as she always had. And as he always had, he took it, before pulling her close and kissing her deeply. Breaking away, she smiled. "I believe you promised me forever, Tom, now didn't you?"

Taking his hand in hers, Tom smiled. "Then let's get started."


End file.
